By Pommel and Steel
by Niham
Summary: They had promised to die together at the same time, in the same hour. Then, in the middle of a long and brutal battle, they made another promise: To meet again in the next life and defeat Aizen once and for all. The problem? They have to remember. IchiRuk
1. One

**One: Promises**

"Rukia-chan…"

Death was taunting them, but avoiding it seemed inevitable. There was only one entrance, one escape. The doors rattled viciously, barricaded by a thick, rusted pipe. A maniacal laughter penetrated the old wood.

Rukia leaned against the wall for support. Soon, the pipe would snap and a horde of starved hollows would flood through the door. When that happened, they would be crushed and devoured.

Thunk, thunk, thunk…

The pipe was beginning to bend and wither under the pressure. Rukia cursed, pressing her brow against the cold stone. Considering the circumstances the chance of both of them surviving was slim.

Maybe it would be different if her leg was not broken; if her calf was not connected to her swollen knee at an awkward, painful angle. Rukia could hardly walk, let alone fight off half a thousand Hollows by herself, and find someone to heal Ichigo before he bled to death.

Several feet to her right, Ichigo stood, hunched over, using Zengatsu as a crutch. Rukia watched his chest heave in labored gasps. A string of red hung out of the side of his mouth. His face and hair were crusted in old blood and his clothing was drenched. He had suffered too many wounds from too long of a fight.

Honestly, Rukia had never even seen him at his limit. Until now she had only worried about him ever reaching his limit; she hadn't expected to see him actually reach it.

_Thunk, thunk, thunk._

The door groaned. Rukia expected it to fly open at any moment. She tried not to think of the impending darkness. She tried not to think of her friends, those who had fallen and those who survived. She tried to shut out the thoughts of life and the promises of death. She tried not to think of anything at all, and failed.

"_Rukia-chan…" _

Death was calling, and his song was a maniacal and mean chorus.

"Ichigo," she said, shifting her weight tenderly. A hot pain shot up her thigh. She was shaking, but whether it was from exhaustion, pain or fear, Rukia was unsure. "Ichigo, did you know that when a soul with an incredible dream dies too early… when it dies before accomplishing that dream, it gets incarnated into a new body? It gets reborn so that it can try again."

Ichigo looked at her sideways. "We are not going to die," he said between breaths. "We just need to think." He swayed, and used Zengatsu to steady his balance. "Your brother would kick my ass if I let us die."

Rukia hesitated, watching the shadows stretch across the dusty floors like crooked fingers, ready to snatch her up. For the briefest moment, she thought Ichigo was right. She believed him, and clung to the possibility of survival.

Then she remembered Ichigo was bleeding to death and that her leg was broken, and defeat picked at her hopes like a flock of crows on a battlefield. "Nii-sama won't be upset," she said. "Not if we promise to come back."

"Rukia, we are _not_ going to die." Ichigo's expression betrayed him. He knew what was coming. They were stuck in the breadth of some huge chamber. The door creaked and groaned, trembling on its rusted hinges. "We promised we would go together," she said, "We promised that we would die at the same time, like Yoruichi and— "

"—we are not going to die, Rukia—"

"— so, let's promise to come back," Rukia finished. "We'll be reborn and we'll meet again, and when we do, we'll beat Aizen."

"Rukia, that's insane."

It was _total_ insanity. There were a million things that could go wrong. Even if this did work, it would take years for them grow up, and what would they do when they did finally meet? _We'll remember,_ Rukia told herself. _I'll remember somehow, and then I'll make him remember._

They didn't have much of a choice. "As long as we promise, it'll be fine."

"What if it doesn't work?"

"It will, just promise that we'll come back. We'll meet again, we'll remember what happened, and then we'll beat Aizen once and for all. Say that you promise."

Several seconds passed before Ichigo cursed, muttered something along the lines of 'crazy bitch,' and sighed. "I promise."

"No matter what?"

"I swear on Zengatsu, we'll come back."

"And we'll defeat Aizen for good."

"Rukia…if this is the only way, then I will personally stuff the King's Key up his ass."

Despite everything— exhaustion, pain, dread— Rukia found it in herself to smile. She truly, honestly believed him. Sode no Shirayuki's ivory hilt hummed in her grip. Hope rippled through her soul. "I promise too."

Ichigo held out his hand. "Together?" There was a small spurt of red as she laced her fingers around his wet palm.

"Together."

They turned to face the door, to face death together, hand in hand, just as they promised. The pipe snapped and fell to the floor with a loud clang. Rukia closed her eyes. So be it.

**

* * *

**

**A/N**: There's something weird about murdering your favorite characters…and bringing them back again. I love writing fights, so expect many battle scenes and even more chapters. Thanks for reading!


	2. Two

**Two: Reborn Hands **

* * *

_Behind the bone mask, he laughed, lifting his hefty sword and brought it down, intending to slice her down the middle. Stepping back, she parried, but the steel edge cut through Sode no Shirayuki as if it were paper. The sacred white blade clattered against the marble and shattered into a spray of tiny white crystals._

* * *

Extinction.

It means to cease existence entirely; to no longer subsist among the living. For a normal soul, extinction was a quick and terrifying process.

It was the feeling of a cold steel slicing through her torso and slowly sliding back out again; the feeling of flesh being stripped from the bones. It was also the taste of metallic liquid seeping between her teeth, and then finally the relief of sudden blackness.

The numbness in her soul was the second sign of extinction; the first was the sense of drifting in an infinite black pit of absolute nothingness. It was place where no sound could reach her for an unrevealed distance.

Then, something changed. Somewhere in the darkness, she was wrapped in the shelter of loving warmth, and embraced by someone much bigger and stronger than her frail body. Strange, Rukia had never heard of death feeling warm or loving or even safe. Was she dead, or alive?

Panic welled up inside her. She struggled against the embrace. "We should name her something special." That was a man's voice, deep like rumbling thunder, and it made her jump.

Oh…maybe she wasn't dead anymore. _Rukia,_ she thought. _My name is Rukia. _

The other voice was sleepy and came from a kindly woman, "She looks like a Ru…Ru…"

_Rukia._

"Ru…th? Ruthie?" That was the man's voice. "Ruthie sounds good."

_Ruthie?! _She cracked her eyes open, but the images slurred together in a swarm of muddled colors.

"I like Ruthie," agreed the woman. "Do you think it suites her?"

_Of course not, crazy! _Rukia tried to say, but the words came out as jumbled baby babbles. She carried on anyways. _Idiots, Rukia is a much better name._

The adults laughed with delight and told her Ruthie— Rukia— what a squirmy baby she was, and my, was she was talkative! Huddling into the warmth, Rukia — pouted. It seemed that no amount of puerile protesting would change their minds. Her name was supposed to be a small reminder of who she really was; a clue to keep her from forgetting entirely.

Rukia had known that as she carried out the life of a human, she would slowly forget. And forgetting was dangerous. When a soul died and was reincarnated, new memories replaced old knowledge. If she slipped away completely, then the person she had once been would be permanently extinct. Rukia would cease to exist and her soul would take on a new identity.

Drifting off into slumber, a beautiful voice tucked in the very back of her heart whispered, _I won't let you forget. _

And every night after that 'Ruthie' dreamed of a broken white sword.

**

* * *

**

**A/n:** You must forgive me, I wrote this story almost a year ago, and while I had a very good reason for giving Rukia such a rediculous name, I can't seem to remember what it was! All I remember is that I wanted to give her one that I know she would hate. Anyways, R&R please.


	3. Three

**A/n:** FINALS ARE OVER! I'M FREEEEEEE! dances with joy FEEL THE FREEDOM!

Alright, now that I've got that out of my system, thank you Al May, beta reader extraordinary. Classes are over for the rest of December, so I can finally focus on writing without any guilt trips. Please read and review, and thank you to those who have!

* * *

**Three: The Name Book**

_With a single stroke, the blade slid through her torso with a low thunk. Her vision blinked a series of red flashes, and Sode no Shirayuki's hilt slid from her grasp. A warm liquid flooded down her front as the cold steal slowly withdrew. She dropped to her knees..._

Ruthie woke with a start, heart thundering in her ears. There was a stinging pain in the spot between her ribs.

She sat upright, padding her chest. Her pajamas were dry. Lifting up the nightshirt, she examined herself. There was a big red mark right in the center of her gut, but otherwise the skin was smooth and uninjured.

It was just dream, a dream that seemed a little too lucid to be a dream. Almost like a fuzzy memory.

But that couldn't be right.

Although she dreamed of it quite often, Ruthie had never actually held a broken sword, not in all her fourteen years. She laid back down, pulling the covers up close. She had to get to sleep. The school trip to the winter festival was tomorrow, and it was supposed to be the highlight of the school year.

And she certainly was not going to fall asleep on the highlight of the year, especially for a silly broken sword.

Ignoring the whisper in her heart that said there more important things than a festival, she rolled over and drifted off to sleep. Instead of the sword, she dreamed of fat snowflakes and strange ice sculptures.

_- - -_

"Mama, I've had it," she said slumping into the sofa. "I'm changing my name for good." The trip to the winter festival had turned out a complete and utter disaster. The fun had ended when her classmates found the horse barn containing a hairy old mule named Ruthie.

Mrs. Arisawa sighed. "Not this again," she muttered, taking a sip of bitter coffee. She always drank coffee late in the afternoon, right before evening lessons.

"It's not even Japanese!"

"Will you give it a rest?"

Ruthie threw her arms in the air, brandishing them wildly above her head. "Mama, they had a mule named _Ruthie!" _

Mrs. Arisawa groaned, muttering something about 'teenagers!' and 'bizarre mood swings.'

Not like her mother understood. If there was one thing Ruthie had learned in her fourteen-and-a-half years, it was that when it came to taste, parents had none. Nada. Zip. Not one drop.

What the name _Ruthie _failed to do was sum up her entire existence, inside and out. It felt like wearing a giant, ugly sweater stitched together in curdled red fabric, complete with old plastic buttons.

Bottom line: _Ruthie_ was an unsightly name, and a spirit like hers should not be labeled as a Ruthie. Black hair, twin braids, blue eyes, and extraordinarily short; the obnoxious sweater fit gracelessly. It was just too scratchy and old fashioned.

"Now they make donkey sounds whenever I walk into a room!" she cried, beating the sofa arm with her little fist. "Honestly, Mother, what were you thinking? High school is already hard enough—"

_Thunk._

The spine of a thin paperback book hit the back of her head. The title was printed in italicized crimson letters: _Baby Names From Around the World._ Ruthie looked up for an explanation.

Mrs. Arisawa said, "If it's that much of a bother, change it."

Ruthie blinked, surprised. "You don't care?"

"It never seemed to suite you anyways," Mrs. Arisawa said into her cup. "And I swear you've been

complaining about since the day you were born."

"Well, Ruthie is a bad name!"

She ducked as an empty plastic mug zipped past her ear. Any other adult might have chastised her for talking back, but Mrs. Arisawa ran a karate dojo, and somewhere during her youth she had developed a wrathful habit of throwing objects.

Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she was one of the strongest women in Japan, or maybe it was because she was on a Red Alert, which could make any mama a little more testier than during the rest of the month.

The mug clattered on the tiled floors. Ruthie sank into the couch, flipping through the pages. For every name printed in romanji, there was a list of kanji and hiranga variations, as well as a list of different meanings and histories of that name. Someone had put a lot of work into that baby book.

She flipped to the 'R' portion of the book. There was one particular name that she was looking for.

_Ru…Ru…Ruana? _No.

_Ruby? _No.

_Rue. _Too boring.

_Ruqayyah? _Too complicated.

_Ruzgar? _Too Turkish.

_How about…Ru…Rufina?_

She scowled and slapped the book closed with disgust. Holy thunder gods, there was a name worse than Ruthie!

"Who wrote this useless this book?" she asked the book, flipping over the cover.

_Kurosaki Yuzu. _

She blinked and reread the name. _Kurosaki Yuzu. _

A strange coldness seized her hands. She turned the book over and back again, just to make sure that she was reading right.

The name had not changed. _Kurosaki Yuzu. _

"Kurosaki…"

_The sound of horrible shrieks echoed beyond the walls. The dusty floors were stained in red puddles. He held out his hand. "Together?" _

She placed a hand over her brow as a sudden dizzy spell took over her sight.

_A sickly wet warmth flooded down her chest. The ivory hilt slid out of her grasp, and made a defeated ring as it clattered against the red marble. _

"Ruthie," said Mrs. Arisawa, looking slightly concerned, "what's wrong?"

_The pipe snapped… _

"_Don't forget," she whispered. _

Mrs. Arisawa tugged gently on her left braid. "Hey, what's wrong with you?"

She blinked. Whatever spell had come over her it was gone as quickly as it had come. Although it left her quite stunned and empty inside. "N-nothing," she stammered. "It was nothing."

Mrs. Arisawa looked at her skeptically. "If you say so."

Ruthie stared at the name Kurosaki. "Mama," she said. "Where'd you get this book?"

"A friend wrote it," she said shortly.

"You know her?"

"Don't you have homework?"

She replied with an empty nod. There _were _things to be done, like making fliers for theater club or finishing up that science report before midterms. Still, it seemed like there was something else she had to do, something excruciatingly important-- even more important than clubs and mid terms.

In fact, having Ruthie as her name should have been the least of her concerns.

She looked at the book. _Yuzu... _

What was it with that name? It reminded her of...cleaning supplies and yellow plaid pajamas. It was a special name, not _her _name, but it meant something special. It was like there was a big, heavy black stage curtain drawn over the deepest part of her memories, and it was hiding the answer.

After several lame excuses for her sudden odd behavior, she clambered upstairs to think.

- - -

Long, black locks spilled over her shoulders as she stroked her hair with the brush. The name book sat on the edge of the vanity. About an hour ago, she had come to the conclusion that she should meet this Kurosaki Yuzu herself.

Well, it only made sense to meet the author because reading the name Kurosaki put a strange taste in her mouth, like an extra large tablespoon of deja vu.

Besides, Yuzu was smart. She had written a whole book on baby names, and according to the little biography in the back, she had also written two self help books: _Cleaning for Slobs_ and _Dealing with Grief_.

Maybe she could help Ruthie find a new name. Her real name. The one that began 'Ru' and ended with 'kia,' instead of 'thie.' Ha, life would be so wonderful when she could march into the kitchen and boldly declare, "Mama, it's Ru_kia_ not Ru_thie!_" Then she could finally throw her hand in the air and say, "Get it right already!"

Then, realization hit. Hard. The brush stopped mid-stroke. It clattered on the vanity. That big heavy curtain had lifted just a teeny tiny bit, but it was enough that she could see a glimmer of light seeping out from underneath.

She gripped the sides of the vanity for support, staring into the mirror at her long black hair and blue eyes. An icy hand gripped her stomach.

Her name was Rukia, she was a Shinigami, and she was dead.

* * *

**A/n:** So it seems like I still have a lot of explaining to do, but it's not my fault. The reincarnation thing got really complicated right in the middle of this chapter. I might be moving a little too fast, but I felt there was no point in starting anywhere else.

Do you have any idea how hard it is for me, author of this fic, to call her Ruthie? It makes me want to smack myself. Read and review please.


	4. Four

**A/n:** A special thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far and to my good friend Al May, for various things.

**Four: The Triple Meeting**

It was one thing for a photographer to work for the fourth biggest fashion corperation in Japan, but it was entirely another to take photos of the company president's wedding. Hisae considered it a great honor and an absolute pain in her dainty little ass.

This photo gig would either make or break her career. If Mr. Ishida's wedding photos came out even slightly wrong, then she might as well grab a shovel and start upturning dirt.

Not that Mr. Ishida was the company's demonic overlord. He was nice enough and he _had, _after all, employed her for numerous fashion shootings, but he was still company owner, head designer, and all mighty president.

Still, despite her respect for Mr. Ishida, Hisae thought he was completely out of his mind.

Honestly, weddings were excruciatingly important events. Plotting one took days, months, even years of preparation, reservation, and careful detailed consideration. But for a man like Mr. Ishida to just suddenly decide to have his wedding without even a week's notice, it was outrageous!

Hisae had been given three days notice that she would be responsible for her boss's wedding pictures, and it was killing her nerves. He was her God, and His judgment would either welcome her through the glistening gates of heaven or banish her into an eternal pit of fire.

It was the reason why she was thrumming her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, why she kept shifting uncomfortably in her seat, and why she spat a string of mean names at the driver who stole her parking spot.

Stress was boosting her blood pressure to an unhealthy level. If she kept this up, she was probably going to have a heart attack at twenty-seven, die before she was married, and end up as a statistic for youngest heart failure victims per year.

Hisae sighed. Maybe she should just quit. She could call up Mr. Ishida right now, give him a piece of her mind, toss in the the film, and ditch the whole photography thing once and for all.

It sounded wonderful. Start a new career without snotty models and weird fruit cake puddings from the soon-to-be Mrs. Ishida. She could aim for stars and reach for something new and exciting.

Although, she would have to find a way to pay those overwhelming bills, eat, and fix that annoying leak in her roof. And there were other the money guzzling things like overdrawn fees and holiday gifts and retirement funds. Plus all the little things like cat food and light bulbs and hairspray.

All that meant that she would need to find a well paying job, and for _that _she would probably have to take out a loan for special training.

As she pulled into a cramped space on the farthest end of the lot, Hisae sighed. Quiting was probably more of a pain in ass than Mr. Ishida's spontaneous wedding.

- - -

_The floor felt cold even under the warm, wet layer of red liquid. An overwhelming pressure smothered her into the marble. She choked, sputtering in her own fluids.  
_

_The broken sword lay just inches out of her grasp, the white pommel was just barely out of her grasp. Without her command, the blade would remain broken and useless to her. Someday she would restore the blade. Someday she slide her fingers down the ivory hilt and defeat the enemy once and for all. She swore it on the glittering white ribbon attached to the pommel of her zanpakuto. _

_A snapping sound like hair splitting thunder filled her ears. It was the sound of delicate bone being splintered under a colossal weight. She felt it in her back for the briefest moment. Her hands went numb instantly and her lungs became hard, lifeless rocks just as the spit went dry in her mouth. _

_The claws darkness slowly crept over her, and through the gargled images of ravenous bests, she saw the ivory hilt twinkling in a moist crimson pool before slipping away in a cloud of numbing shadows..._

Her name was Rukia. She was a Shinigami, and somehow she had died.

She gripped the vanity for support as a dizzy spell swept over her.

Impossible.

It was impossible that the spirit Rukia could be dead, and then suddenly alive and trapped inside a human body. At least, it was impossible for the first five minuets.

Staring into the oval vanity mirror, she frantically patted the thin pale flesh on her face and tugged at the unusually long black hair draping over her shoulder.

_This _body was not hers. It was Ruthie's. _Ruthie _wore her hair long. _Ruthie _was a member of theater club.

Wait, _she _was Ruthie, but she was Rukia too. That must mean that Ruthie was the name of her human body, and Rukia was her spirit's name. Although Rukia was supposed to be dead and extinct, and Ruthie had a life and personality of her own.

She slapped a hand on her forehead, trying to sort through the jumbled mess of her thoughts.

First thing was first, and since she was both Ruthie and Rukia, which should she call herself? After all, she was two people fused into one being of existence. Ruthie was an awkward name and the kids at school made donkey sounds when she walked by (which would soon earn them a hind-hoof sandwich), and Rukia sounded a bazillion times better.

Right, she was Rukia again. Rukia was a Shinigami and her main duty was to kill Hollows. Rukia was also dead, and she had something very, very important to do.

"Ruthie?" That was her mother's voice.

She turned to her face Mrs. Arisawa, stared at the various gray threads in the carpet while shuffling her feet uneasily. "Yeah?"

"Hey, Listen," Mrs. Arisawa said, leaning against the door frame. "I need you pack your things. We're taking a train north tonight."

Rukia looked up and blinked. "Why?"

Mrs. Arisawa smiled. "Some friends of mine are getting married Thursday―"

"But that's the day after tomorrow!" she blurted and clamped her teeth together.

"You're auntie has a habit of making last minuet decisions," said Mrs. Arisawa, "and forgetting to tell me about them." Her smile widened. "Be sure to pack something formal for the rehearsal and _no _jeans."

Rukia looked down at her holey jeans. Somehow she had grown accustomed to confining her legs in stringy old denim, instead of a nice skirt or yellow dress. She nodded.

"Mama," she said before Mrs. Arisawa turned to leave. "Could you please tell me about Kurosaki Yuzu. I really want to know..."

Mrs. Arisawa studied her and then shook her head. "You can ask her yourself. She'll be at the wedding too," she said and paused."Why the sudden curiosity?"

Well, there wasn't much of an explanation except that she recognized the name and that it reminded her of something really, really important that she had to do. It was something to do with Rukia's past life, and the only link was Kurosaki Yuzu. Of course, explaining that to Mrs. Arisawa would probably put her in the loony bin, or at least get her grounded for telling wild stories.

Rukia's eyes fell on the baby name book. "I, uh, wanted her to help me find a better name than Ruthie," she lied. Kurosaki Yuzu had already helped her, even if it was in an indirect manner.

Mrs. Arisawa rolled her eyes.

"Mama, my dignity is at stake!"

Mrs. Arisawa appeared to have not heard nor cared. "Just get your things together. We're leaving in a few hours."

She opened her mouth to say something else, when she was suddenly overtaken by another spell. Her vision blurred as the world tilted and whirled in hazy circles. There was a strange shift in the atmosphere; the air was suddenly frigid and a faint hum resounded through her bones.

Rukia shivered.

_You promised, _whispered that beautiful voice. _Keep your promise. _The voice was so close and louder than she had ever heard. Yet, it felt so familiar, almost like it was some divine entity wrought by her own existence.

Rukia waited for it to speak again, feeling the cold air thrum against her skin, but she only was answered by a stretch of silence.

Slowly, the humming faded and warmth returned to the atmosphere. Whatever being the voice was, it was beginning to wake up again from a long, dormant slumber.

- - -

Ichiei punched the corner of the ticket, tore off the end and handed the other half to the passenger. "Seat six," he said to her dismissively and moved onto the next passenger.

"Seat seventy―"

"Um..." It was the woman whom he had just assigned to seat six. "When do we―"

He scowled. It was the question of the century. Every God blessed hour. 'When do we leave?' and 'When do we arrive?' or 'When doest this train arrive in Tokyo?' It was the number one most asked question for a conductor, right above 'Am I on the right train?' and 'Where's the bathroom?'

Ignoring the woman, he handed the ticket back to the passenger. "Seat seventy three, sir―"

"Excuse me―"

"Don't you know how to read, lady?" he said curtly. "It says on your ticket. We leave at nine and arrive in Kakura at exactly ten."

"But―"

"Return to your seat, please."

He turned to the last passenger, a man with raggedy brown hair hair and a pair of sad round eyes. There was a rusted chain hanging out of his chest in the soft spot between his ribs. His shoulders were round and slumped, and his suit was stained with brown splotches.

Ichiei sighed. Another ghost. They followed him everywhere; they _were _everywhere, and lately he was seeing more and more. Sometimes he thought that the dead were more sensible passengers than some of the living idiots he dealt with.

He wondered if dying made you any smarter.

"Do you want on?" Ichiei asked.

The ghost nodded timidly, rattling the chain a little.

The train whistled and heaved an exasperated sigh. Ichiei stepped to the left. At least ghosts didn't need punched tickets.

- - -

"I couldn't get tickets for a full route tonight," Mrs. Arisawa said, unloading the car. "They're booked for the holidays. So, your Auntie is meeting us halfway."

Rukia nodded, staring absently at the passing houses. She was trying to reach deep inside to find the voice, but all she heard was a faint hum. She was hoping that it might have the answers she sought.

Mrs. Arisawa smiled. "You haven't seen her since you were little."

Rukia stared at the snow covered cement, giving another blank nod.

_We almost became extinct..._

The air stirred a little and fell still.

Mrs. Arisawa looked her. "Ruthie, are you feeling alright?

Rukia almost flinched at the name. "Do you have to call me that?" she groaned.

Mrs. Arisawa rolled her eyes and handed her a ticket. "Do not lose this," she warned. "I almost made the travel agent cry trying to get it."

Hoisting up her bag, she lead Ruthie through the crowded terminal, but as soon as Ruthie approached the gate, the air hummed. _Not this one,_ it whispered.

She stopped at the gate as Mrs. Arisawa went through without glancing over. "What do you mean?"

_That's the wrong train, _it said.

Mrs. Arisawa disappeared into a crowd of people. "No it's not." She started to follow her mother when the voice chilled her bones and said, _Idiot, not this one!_

She wished the voice in her heart would just manifest itself into a physical being, instead of remaining invisible and mysterious. "Fine." She set the bag down and stepped out of the way so that other people could walk pass. "Which one am I supposed to get on?"

There was pause in which she only heard whistling trains and the buzz of chattering people. The voice said, _Turn around. _

Rukia did. On the other side of the station there was a second passenger train painted in a chipped, rusty red paint. There were people getting on board, passing their luggage to the conductors while others hugged relatives goodbye. "That one?" she asked.

_Yes, that one. _

She glanced between the trains before stomping her feet in frustration and marching off the to the red passenger train, swearing the voice had _better _be right. There was a only a sliver of doubt in her heart because she trusted the voice. It had always been with her, whispering the faintest secrets, and it would always stay with her. There was something she had promised to accomplish, and whatever the voice it wanted to help.

When no body was looking, she snuck through the gate, squeezing and wiggling her way through the metallic bars. Somehow she managed to get herself and the duffel bag through the gate without being caught.

Hurrying over to the train she handed her ticket to the conductor, hoping that he wouldn't notice which train she was really supposed to be board. He almost punched the ticked when he stopped, scowled, reread the numbers and handed it back to Rukia.

"You're boarding the wrong train, kid."

"No, I'm not," she said.

He gave her a flat, irritated look. He was probably in his early twenties, and Rukia thought he looked kind of stupid with all that orange hair hanging out from under the ridiculous hat. And to think that _he_ used to make fun of _her _fashion tastes!

"You're supposed to board the ten forty-five route," he said. "This is the ten o'clock train."

"But I have to get on _this _train!"

He folded his arms. "I can't let you board."

Rukia wanted to reach out and smack him. In fact, she had to glue her hands to her sides to resist the sudden impulse to clobber him. Moron.

"No," she persisted, "I _have _to get on this train. My sister is already on―"

The sister thing just sort of slipped out uninvited, and it did not seem to convince the conductor either.

"That is biggest bag of BS I've heard all day," he said bluntly and seized the collar of her sweater. He was probably going to throw her back through the gate. "I haven't seen anybody as ugly as you―"

"HEY!"

A woman with short black hair stomped off the train. She had blue eyes and carried a large camera bag. "What the hell do you think you're thinking doing?" she demanded.

The conductor scowled. "You again? I thought I told you to stay in your seat―"

But the woman swatted his hand away, pulled Rukia to the side, and gave him a warning glare. "Are you alright?" she asked Rukia, straightening out her collar.

Rukia nodded, thinking what wonderful timing this woman had. Now all she had to do was summon up the actress inside her and tweak reality a little. "I'm trying to get on the train," she said. Then she pointed to the conductor. "But _he _won't let me on even though I have a ticket."

"It's for the wrong train!"

"But you don't understand," she said as innocently as possible (her human body was, after all, only fourteen and a half years old. "I haveto get _on this _train."

"Can't you just let her on?"

"No."

A typical answer.

Rukia pointed to the woman. "She's my sister."

The woman looked at her with a raised pencil thin brow. Rukia silently begged her to play along. The woman sighed. "I was supposed to meet her on this train," she said. "So she wouldn't have to travel alone for the holidays."

The train wailed loudly, as if to agree to the false testimony.

His brown eyes flickered from Rukia to her 'sister' and then back to Rukia again. He scratched the corner of his brow. "Are you running away from home?"

Well, sort of but not really. Although, Mrs. Arisawa was going to skin her alive when she realized that Ruthie had purposely lied her way onto a another train.

"No."

The young conductor snatched the ticket out of her hand and punched it with two _clicks. "_Sister my ass," he muttered, tearing it in half and handing the smaller piece to her. He stood to the side. "Go before I change my mind."

She thought about slapping him, or maybe digging the tip of her elbow between his ribs just to have the

final gesture, but stepping onto the passenger car, she thought better of it.

Taking her place next to the woman, whose name she later was Hisae, she waited to see if the beautiful voice would give her further instructions. _  
_

_**

* * *

**__  
_**A/N: **I have a crap load of explanations coming up. I was going answer all those questions reviewers asked in this chapter, but then a little voice told me to wait...now it seems I have even more questions to answer! Especially with Hisae... God, what a headache. It was weird 

Yeah, so review please. I promise I will explain everything soon. Merry Christmas!


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